e flying about; and, above all, a
Convention of the Estates had just refused, in June, to make a large
grant of money to his Majesty. It was also irritating that an old and
trusted servant, Colonel Stewart, wished to quit the country, and take
English service against the Irish rebels. This gentleman, sixteen years
before, had been instrumental in the arrest and execution of the Earl of
Gowrie; the new young Earl, son of the late peer, had just returned from
the Continent to Scotland, and Colonel Stewart was afraid that Gowrie
might wish to avenge his father. Therefore he desired to take service in
Ireland.

With all these frets, the King needed the refreshment of hunting the buck
in his park of Falkland. He ordered his own hunting costume; it was
delivered early in August, and (which is singular) was paid for
instantly. Green English cloth was the basis of his apparel, and five
ounces of silver decorated his second-best 'socks.' His boots had velvet
tops, embroidered; his best 'socks' were adorned with heavy gold
embroidery; he even bought a new horse. His gentlemen, John Ramsay, John
Murray, George Murray, and John Auchmuty, were attired, at the Royal
expense, in coats of green cloth, like the King. {12a}

Thus equipped, the Royal party rose early on the morning of Tuesday,
August 5, left the pleasant house of Falkland, with its strong round
towers that had lately protected James from an attack by his cousin, wild
Frank Stewart, the Earl of Bothwell; and rode to the stables in the park;
'the weather,' says his Majesty, 'being wonderful pleasant and
seasonable.' {12b} 'All the jolly hunt was there;' 'Tell True' and the
other hounds were yelping at the limits of their leashes; the Duke of
Lennox and the Earl of Mar, friends of James from his youth, and
honourable men, were the chief nobles in the crowd; wherein were two or
three of the loyal family of Erskine, cousins of Mar, and a Dr. Herries,
remarkable for a club foot.

At the stables, hacks were discarded, hunters were led out, men were
mounting, the King had his foot in the stirrup, when a young gentleman,
the Master of Ruthven, rode swiftly up from the town of Falkland. He had
trotted over, very early, from the town house, at Perth (some twelve or
fourteen miles away), of his brother, the Earl of Gowrie. He was but
nineteen years of age, tall, handsome, and brother of the Queen's
favourite maid of honour, Mrs. Beatrix Ruthven. That he was himself one